If Sherlock went to Hogwarts
by GreenCat22
Summary: Sherlock goes to Hogwarts, and Sherlock being Sherlock, crazy things happen. Sherlock and John still in a heap of trouble every year as Moriarty's power increases. Goes through all Seven Years. This is a Sherlock replaces Harry Potter fic. Characters may be a bit OOC. Rating because of injury, death and I'm swearing. Some fluff, but pretty dark. Bit of bromance. R&R, please!
1. Year 1: They Meet

Sherlock Holmes sits in his compartment, alone. His brother, Mycroft, a prefect, was in the front. Of course, he wouldn't want to sit with Mycroft, his annoying older brother, unless forced to do so. And no one wanted to sit with him because of his 'gift'. He can tell someone's life story by just looking at them. Everyone thought he was weird. They called him a freak. Then he learned that he was magic. Now he's going to Hogwarts. Most people would be very excited, but Sherlock is pretty bored. "Excuse me, but may I sit here?" asks a kid. Short, blond: a first year. "Yes, I suppose so." replies Sherlock. "Oh, thank you. I'm John Watson, by the way. Who're you?" asks John, "I'm Sherlock Holmes, Half-blood. You're a Muggleborn, I presume." notes Sherlock, "How'd you know?" asks John, "I can tell things about people. See, I make deductions, and I can't help it. You can leave if you like." sighs Sherlock, mentally kicking himself. "Cool! What can you tell about me?" asks John, "Really?" asks Sherlock, "Really!" nods John. Sherlock tells John his whole life story, looking at John. "You're amazing! How can you do this?" asks John, "I could do this for as long as I can remember. Everyone's called me a freak." sniffs Sherlock, "What?! No way! It's so cool!" grins John, "Thanks, John." smiles Sherlock. "You should smile more, Sherlock. It lights up your face." notes John, "Really?" asks Sherlock, "Really." answers John.

_Author's Note: Do I own Sherlock or Harry Potter? No I do not. I do not own anything here. Cross my hearts and hope to die._


	2. Year 1: Getting The Stone

The Sorting; something Sherlock was not looking forward to. He is worried about being put in Slytherin with Mycroft. The more he dwells on it, the more he worries. Then, right there, Professor McGonagall calls for "Holmes, Sherlock!" All eyes are on Sherlock as he puts the Sorting Hat on_. Now what are you?_ The Hat asks, _Well, I don't know._ Sherlock answers, _You could be a wonderful Slytherin. It could help you; guide you on your way. _The Hat says, _No. I will not be a Slytherin._ Sherlock insists, _Are you sure?_ The Hat asks, _Positive. Now, where else do you think I could do well?_ Sherlock replies, _You could be a Ravenclaw. A very good Ravenclaw._ The Hat thinks, _No, I don't think so. Too predictable. Besides, Ravenclaws are boring. Sherlock replies, How about- The Hat begins, Oh no, never Hufflepuff._ _I just want somewhere interesting. How about Gryffindor?_ Sherlock asks, _Gryffindor? _The Hat asks, _Gryffindor._ Sherlock repeats. There is an intense mind-stare-off._ Well?_ Sherlock asks, _It's been ten minutes. I'm in a hat stall._ The Hat sighs, _Just put me in Gryffindor. I insist._ Sherlock insists, "Gryffindor!"

"Watson, John!" The stare is now on John. It takes only a few seconds to declare John to be a "Gryffindor!" John smiles and takes off The Hat. He heads towards the Gryffindor table, sitting with his new friend. He knows that this year will be crazy. It's just a feeling, but he is sure that with Sherlock and magic, anything is possible.

"Come on, let's go to Fluffy!" shouts Sherlock, "No, Sherlock." argues John, "But J-o-h-n, the Philosopher's Stone is there- I wasn't supposed to say that!" insists Sherlock, "The Philosopher's Stone? We've got to tell someone!" gasps John, "No! You can't tell anyone! John, someone wants the Stone! I have an idea, but not a very good one. John, do you trust me?" asks Sherlock, "Why-" begins John, "Do you trust me John?" repeats Sherlock, "I- yes." answers John, "Excellent. Come on, then! We're saving the world!"

"Okay, first task: get past Fluffy. Music, we need music." Sherlock looks around the corridor. "And what are you doing here, Sherlock?" asks Mycroft, stepping out of the shadows, "Saving the world. Help us?" answers Sherlock, "No." replies Mycroft, "Then go." commands Sherlock, "No." repeats Mycroft, "Well, come on then. We have to hurry!" insists Sherlock, "Fine, I'll help." sighs Mycroft. "He's here! We have to hurry, John!" yelps Sherlock. John begins to quickly open up the trapdoor. "Sherlock, what happened to the music?" he asks, "Just hurry, John! I've got it!" shouts Sherlock, and suddenly there is violin music filling the corridor. Very nice playing, not the kind that woke up John in the middle of the night. "You play well." notes Mycroft, jumping down into the trapdoor. "Okay, I've got it. Now, tell me why you can't play that nicely at night." asks John, "Simple, but I'm not telling just yet." replies Sherlock, jumping in after John.

"What is this?" asks John, wrestling with vines, "Devil's Snare. Now, how do you kill it? I've deleted it." answers Sherlock, hopping around the plant, "With fire! Use fire! Quickly!" chokes John. There is a fire almost instantly from Mycroft's direction; the plant releases John. "Run John, run!" yells Sherlock, "A door!" shouts John, "Open the door Sherlock!"

Behind the door, a fluttering noise, a bunch of jewel-bright things. "Birds? They put birds here?" asks John, "Not birds, but keys!" gasps Sherlock, "Broomsticks. We have to fly!" notes Mycroft, "I know you're in your element, John, but I don't want to fly." protests Sherlock, "But we must!" insists John, "I've never flown before!" argues Sherlock, "Sherlock, people could die! If whoever gets the Stone is as evil as you make them seem, than you could die! I could die." John looks into his friend's eyes. "Okay, fine. I will help." sighs Sherlock, "Good. Now, grip the broom tightly, kick off the ground, and do as I say." commands John. "Okay, we've got to try to catch it, so what do you suppose it looks like?" asks Sherlock, "Hmm, old, big, just like-" Mycroft whips his wand out "- this one."

"What next?" asks John, "A giant chess board! Chess, Sherlock." sighs Mycroft, "Like the one you used when you played yourself for a week?" chuckles Sherlock, "So we have to play?" asks John, "Yes." answers Mycroft, face draining of color. "Is it wizard chess?" asks Sherlock, "Yes." Mycroft answers, "Oh boy." The long, epic chess game ends with Sherlock nearly getting killed and Mycroft getting a checkmate.

"Sherlock, are you alright?!" screams Mycroft, "Just fine, Mycroft." replies Sherlock, "Not much longer, Sherlock." reassures John, "We have to stop him! Come on, it's not far." gasps Sherlock, "Are you sure?" asks John, "Positive. I know he's there. I know he's evil. And I've got to stop him." Sherlock looks dead serious, leaning heavily on John and Mycroft, pale, bloody, and bruised, with determination in his pale blue eyes. "To the next room."

"Okay, now what do we have here?" asks Mycroft. Suddenly, flames spring up at the doors, with no way out. "Ah! Paper. Words. Logic!" smiles Sherlock, "Logic? Okay, well, what is it?" asks John, "This is brilliant! But there's only some of the stuff left in it, only enough for one. Here's the stuff to get back. You take it, owl Dumbledore, and wait to save me. I'll go forward, try to save the day, and hopefully succeed." explains Sherlock, "Okay. You'll be alright?" asks Mycroft, "Let's go." John mumbles, looking away from Sherlock, "Will you be alright?!" shouts Mycroft, "I don't know." whispers Sherlock, "But go."

"I thought you would be here later." remarks Moriatry, "You. I knew it. Now, I think you'd like the Philosopher's Stone, right?" asks Sherlock, "Yes, me. Here for the Philosopher's Stone. How I wish to have it. Who wouldn't?" laughs Moriarty, "Me." replies Sherlock. "But you're just a kid. How would a kid like you even be able to imagine a thing like this?" asks Moriarty, "I don't need to." growls Sherlock. "Pity, how youth is wasted on the people who can't see the possibilities. Don't you agree?" asks Moriarty, "No. I don't. In fact, why don't you just see for yourself and get the Stone?" asks Sherlock, "Because I can't get it out of the mirror. You try to." Moriarty walks Sherlock up to the mirror. Not just any mirror, though: the Mirror of Erised. "What do you see?" asks Moriarty, "I see…" begins Sherlock. At first be saw just his reflection, but then it looked to his right and there's John. John walks up to mirror-Sherlock and hands him something. John points at Moriarty, and then walks away. Sherlock grins and holds up a blood-red stone: The Philosopher's Stone. Sherlock feels a weight in his pocket. It's the Stone. "I see myself. But hang on, I'm older. Will I really look like that? Anyways, there's a body behind me and I- I'm happy." lies Sherlock. "You lie, Sherlock, you're lying." Moriarty grabs Sherlock's wrists; "You can't prove anything." shrugs Sherlock. "You've got the Stone. Now hand it over." commands Moriarty, "No. And you can't make me." shouts Sherlock, fighting against Moriarty's grip. He finally just bites Moriarty's arms. They fight; battering each other up until Sherlock takes a nasty blow to the head and blacks out.

"Sherlock, Sherlock, you're alive! Ha, yes!" smiles Mycroft, "Sherlock, you're back! We thought you were dead!" cheers John, "What happened?" asks Sherlock, "Well, we went to owl Dumbledore but we ran into him in the hall and told him what happened, and then we lead him back to where you were. He made it through to you in record time but by then you were on the ground. Moriarty was nowhere to be seen, so we thought he killed you and ran!" John recalls very quickly, "I'm alive. Just fine. Now get me something to eat. I'm starving!" yawns Sherlock, "Well, everyone's been sending you food, like Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, and all those Chocolate Frogs." Smiles Mycroft, "You've been helping yourself to the Chocolate Cauldrons, Mycroft, and you may have some Chocolate Frogs, John." says Sherlock, opening a Chocolate Frog. "Morgana- I've gotten lucky. So, I guess it's time for me to recall my story." Sherlock goes no about everything that happened. "I haven't got a concussion, have I?" asks Sherlock, "No, but I am surprised." Replies Mycroft. "Will next school year be better?" asks John, "I don't know. Probably not, considering the circumstances." answers Sherlock.

"See you next year, John." says Sherlock, "Write to me? Every day. Owl me every day, Sherlock." asks John, "Yes, I'll write: write back, though." chuckles Sherlock, "Oh, I will, Sherlock. Be good, though. Don't die again." jokes John, "I'll try not to." laughs Sherlock, "Have a good Summer, John!" calls Sherlock, "Have a good Summer, Sherlock. Good bye, Mycroft." calls John.


	3. Year 2: John Again

Sherlock sits alone in a compartment. Waiting for someone. "Sherlock, great to see you! It's been a while, hasn't it?" greets John. "Yes, it's been too long." agrees Sherlock, "How's your Summer been?" asks John, putting his trunk up. "Just fine, John. Did you like the letters?" asks Sherlock, refraining from giggling. "Yes, Howlers in the middle of the night. It sounded like you." laughs John, "Nice to know you've been getting my letters." smiles Sherlock, "So, you haven't died yet, right?" asks John, "No, not yet." laughs Sherlock, "Good." They talk on until they reach Hogwarts, Sherlock the happiest he had been all Summer.

_Author's Note: I wish to thank everyone who's been reading. I know this is pretty disorganized and jumpy but I'm having some fun with it._


	4. Year 2: The Chamber Opens

_Author's Note: Hey guys. Please don't be angry. It's been a while, I know. I'm angry with myself too. But whenever I actually got something moderately decent written, the laptop would crash. On the bright side, I have returned from the dead! __Just like the Harry Potter fandom.__ And I've started watching Sherlock! (and Supernatural) They're fantastic! No braces Sherlock yet. (I'm thinking Third year. Any ideas for John's reaction?) And I'm having difficulties with Year Three. Any ideas at all?Are there any shippings in this thing? Not if I can help it. Oh, and sassy Sherlock is so fun to write! Trust me; I'm a pretty sassy person. I should know what sass is like. Oh well, I still like sassy Sherlock. Allons-y, my minions!_

_Disclaimer: I am not JK Rowling, nor Sir. Arthur Conan Doyle, and certainly not Steven Moffat. Nothing is cannon, I swear. Cross my hearts and hope to die._

"John, did you hear?! There's people petrified!" smiles Sherlock, "Sherlock, not now." mutters John, "J-O-H-N, an attack! It's Christmas!" shouts Sherlock, shaking John, "Sherlock, my essay!" yelps John. Said essay is now covered in Sherlock's bottle of color-changing ink. Green, red, purple, pink, no-one-knows-what-the-heck-that-is, brown, white, neon blue- John watches his essay flash hundreds of colors in horror. "Sherlock! You're so careless! Now my essay is gone!" shouts John, "It's alright, see?" asks Sherlock, waving his wand. John watches the ink fly off, back into the reassembled bottle. "How'd you do that? It's a difficult spell." asks John, "My brother is Head Boy, he has advanced magic books. It's not that difficult, anyways." replies Sherlock, "I'm not going to get anything done now, am I?" sighs John, "Nope." answers Sherlock, "Okay. So tell me what you came in screaming about." John rubs his eyes and sits back down.

"A double petrification!" shouts Sherlock, "Who?" asks John, "Some kid in our year and Nearly Headless Nick." explains Sherlock, "Sherlock, he's a ghost. How could he have been petrified?" asks John, "I have no idea, but it has to be something. Way too strong to be a student, yet not anything too horrible. I'm guessing some sort of creature. But what could it be?" explains Sherlock, "Look at these spiders. They're fleeing the castle! What do you suppose that they're running from?" wonders John, "Fleeing the castle? Hmm, there has to be some sort of link. But what?" mutters Sherlock, "Well that's it, isn't it? The spiders! Let's follow them!" Sherlock jumps up out of his seat, pulling John forward.

"Follow the spiders?!" asks John, "Yes, John." replies Sherlock, "Do you think that's a good idea? Mycroft won't be happy about this." asks John, "Yes, John," repeats Sherlock, but he adds "I know." A stick snaps, causing John to grip his wand tighter. "Sherlock, I don't like this." Sherlock whips around. "John, run." he whispers, "Why-" begins John, "Do what I tell you John! Just run! Don't look back at me. Just run. Listen to me, John! What are you even looking at?" shouts Sherlock. "G- Giant freaking spiders!" answers John, "It was a rhetorical question, John." hisses Sherlock.

"Aragog!" click the spiders, "What is it?" asks Aragog, "Men! We've got men!" exclaims a spider, "They're men!" clicks another, "What do we do with them?" asks a third, "Men? Eat them." commands Aragog, "But then you'll never know why we're here." retorts Sherlock, "And why are you here?" asks Aragog, "We followed the spiders, of course. Why else would we be here? No, don't answer that. What are you running from? No, we know it's the creature in there. We want to know what in Merlin's beard it is. Answer that question." sasses Sherlock, "We do not speak of it!" snaps Aragog, "What is it?" repeats Sherlock, "A creature us spiders fear." answers Aragog, "Answer the question with an actual answer!" commands Sherlock. "Sherlock, stop." whispers John, "No John, I need answers." snaps Sherlock, "We have to go now." intervenes John. "Go? I think not…" clicks Aragog, "Would you stop that clicking? Click-click, click-click- it's so annoying! Just so much clicking! Stop it." commands Sherlock, "I kept my sons and daughters from hunting students at Hagrid's request, but I can't deny them fresh meat when it so willingly walks into our web." Sherlock snorts. "Then you'll have to catch us first!"

"_Why are you having them chase us?!"_ hisses John, "Because Aragog is blind. Didn't you see his eyes? Milky white. Blind! He'll have a hard time finding us!" replies Sherlock, "And his children?" asks John, "… oh. I forgot about that part." pants Sherlock, "You forgot?!" shouts John, "We've got magic, haven't we?" asks Sherlock, "Oh yeah, _magic._ That'll keep about _a billion giant spiders_ from eating us. _Magic will save us for sure._" John sarcastically retorts, "Just follow my lead."

"_Alarte Ascendare! Arania Exumai! Avis Oppungno! Cru-_" shouts Sherlock, "Sherlock, stop! Don't use Unforgivable Curses!_ Duro! Protego! Protego Horribilis! Protego Maxima! Protego Totalum!_ Sherlock, what're we going to do?!" scolds John, "Duck! _Protego!_" advises Sherlock, "Are we even close?! They're catching up! _Bombarda! Bombarda Maxima!_" screeches John, "I think we need a ride! I said _a ride_! _Accio Threstral!_" replies Sherlock, "What the heck is a Threstral?!" asks John, "Trust me on this one, John. Okay… they're invisible horses with wings. You can see them if you see someone die." answers Sherlock. "Here they are! I think. Listen to the sound of wings. _Lumos!_" A horse-shaped imprint appears in the light, to which Sherlock and John run to.

"What did we get from that?" asks John, "A- never to do that again, B- that Hagrid was probably innocent, C- that the spiders have nothing to do with this, and D- that whatever this thing is must be terrifying. Good, that narrows the options. Now, what notes do we have?" answers Sherlock. "Spiders flee before it." replies John, "Narrows it down." mutters Sherlock, "It must be Giant." thinks John, "Narrows it down." mumbles Sherlock, "It doesn't kill; it petrifies." replies John, "Narrows it down." repeats Sherlock, "What if it can kill, but it hasn't got the chance?" asks John, "The library! We have to go to the library." realizes Sherlock, "The library?! Why the library?" asks John, "A book. This creature could be in a book and we'd never know about it."

"Explanation, Sherlock." demands John, "Do you realize what I've been hearing? Voices no one else can hear. But I speak Parseltounge. So what if it's a snake? What if it's something we know about?" explains Sherlock, "But what?" asks John, "A Basilisk." answers Sherlock. "But those are just legend! Not one has been sighted in a very long time." protests John, "What else could it be, John?" snaps Sherlock. John doesn't answer. "_Exactly!_ We've only got one suspect. Now, the Chamber of Secrets is in Moaning Myrtle's Bathroom. Come on, then!" shouts Sherlock.

"Sherlock, what are you doing?" questions Mycroft, "Saving the world… again. Since somebody's got to do it, that'll be me. It always is. You people need to get into gear and start saving the world so I don't have to." sasses Sherlock, "Sherlock, now is not time to become sassy. Let's go save Hogwarts." commands John, "You going into the Chamber of Secrets? No. I'm putting my foot down, Sherlock." interrupts Mycroft, "Oh really? Well, I think not. I'm going into there, saving the world, and- a note?" growls Sherlock, "A note? 'Get Sherlock'. Sherlock, what does that mean?" asks John, "It means I am needed."

"Needed for what?" shouts John, "Mycroft, are you helping or not?" dodges Sherlock, "… fine. I'll help." sighs Mycroft, "I'm beginning to wonder why you were sorted in Slytherin. You go on enough adventures to be a Gryffindor. But Slytherin suits you well, dear brother." comments Sherlock, "You are manipulative enough to be in Slytherin. But you can be in Ravenclaw, with your mind. Slytherin would've helped you. What a waste."

"John! Mycroft! Can you hear me? Are you alright?" asks Sherlock, "We're fine, but are you okay? We're trying to shift the rocks. Just stay put and we'll get through soon." calls John. "No, we haven't got the time. I'll go get Harry. Goodbye, John. Mycroft." replies Sherlock, "What?! Sherlock, you can't go and get yourself killed." shouts Mycroft, "I can't make any promises." mumbles Sherlock.

"Did you miss me?" asks Moriarty, "Moriarty, I knew it. Killer and Parseltounge- fits perfectly. How did you survive?" hisses Sherlock, "Secrets, Sherlock. We're in a _Chamber_ of Secrets." replies Moriarty. "Dear me, Mr. Holmes; it seems like you have lost your friends. Did they finally leave you?" leers Moriarty, "I don't have friends." protests Sherlock, "You can't fool me, Sherlock. I've been watching. I know what you like." teases Moriarty, "This Basilisk is not yours. It belongs to Salazar Slytherin. Are you borrowing it?" Sherlock quickly changes the subject, "No. I intend on using this creature until it dies. And it will never die. _Come. Kill the boy!_" answers Moriarty.

The mouth of Salazar Slytherin slowly opens. The noise of creaking stone fills the chamber. A dark figure moves inside. The Basilisk is stirring. Sherlock shuts his eyes. He opens up the map of the Chamber in his mind- a half-complete map. Slithering coming towards him. Sherlock whips around.

"You have made several large mistakes, Moriarty!" he shouts, "_Kill the child._ Tell me about the mistakes! Point them out like a good little boy, Sherly!" sneers Moriarty, "I speak Parseltounge, which means that I can control the Basilisk. How inconsiderate. You could do better. _Leave the boy._" hisses Sherlock, "Dear me! You haven't thought this through, Sherlock. See, the Basilisk only listens to me. I've named her Shan. Shan will kill this time. Say goodbye, Sherly." sniggers Moriarty.

"Sherlock!" shouts John, limping over to shift another rock. "John, sit down. Allow me." commands Mycroft, "No! I'm not going to sit down! Sherlock's in danger!" shouts John, "John! Sit down. Your leg-" begins Mycroft, "Damn my leg!" roars John, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry." he apologizes.

"Your next mistake is that John's alive. And he's working." explains Sherlock with a calm air, "John? You think he can stop me?" snorts Moriarty, "Perhaps. But there's my archenemy." answers Sherlock, "And who's that?" questions Moriarty, "That leads us to the next plot hole: your lack of knowledge. You would know who my archenemy is if you studied up a bit." smirks Sherlock, "_Kill the boy. Kill him now._" hisses Moriarty. A new sound: the flapping of wings. Sherlock crashes into an unfamiliar pillar. He opens his eyes.

"Fawkes?" asks Sherlock. The phoenix glides through the air, holding some sort of parcel. The most beautiful noise radiates from Fawkes's direction as Fawkes hurls himself at Shan. Shan lets out a horrendous screech. Blood pours onto the ground. Sherlock squeezes his eyes shut. He begins to run again. "_Kill the boy! Leave the bird! Leave the bird! Kill the boy!_" hisses Moriarty. Sherlock realizes that Fawkes is taking out Shan's eyes. Which means… Sherlock opens his eyes again.

"_No! Leave the bird! Leave the bird! Kill the boy! Use your nose!_" shouts Moriarty, "_You can hear him, you can smell him! Kill the boy!_" Sherlock skids on some blood, slipping and falling. He can taste metal. What- nosebleed. No time for this. Sherlock stumbles around for a second, attempting to stand back up. He looks around. The Sorting Hat is sitting, crumpled on the ground, right next to him.

Sherlock jams it on his head. _Give me something,_ he pleas. Something hits his head. He takes off the hat and bam- there is a ruby hilt. Sherlock pulls at the hilt. A sword in the Sorting Hat. The freaking Sorting Hat. A freaking sword.

Sherlock begins attempting to stand again. He succeeds this time, and begins running. He scrambles up the statue of Salazar, using the sword as help. Sherlock reaches the top, making quite a clatter. Shan slithers over to Sherlock, Fawkes flying off. Shan comes closer, opening its cavernous mouth, coming closer and closer until-

Sherlock feels a stab of pain in his right arm. He screams. Shan lets out a screech. Sherlock looks into its mouth. The sword- stabbed in the roof of Shan's mouth- glints back. Blood pours out of the wound. Sherlock glances at his arm. A tooth is stuck in his arm. Sherlock tugs at the sword. Shan flails around helplessly. Fawkes glides over to Sherlock.

The world is a blur around Sherlock. He can't tell left or right, but he forces himself to stay conscious. "Now is your hour. We all must leave, Sherlock. So sad yours is so soon. You could have helped me." teases Moriarty, "I would… never… work… for you. You… revolt… me." pants Sherlock, "Pity. You go fight for the angles. I could have used your brain. But I'm the one stayin' alive. Remember that." pouts Moriarty, "Look, even the phoenix is crying for you." Fawkes is indeed crying. Sherlock blacks out, unable to hold out. Death is approaching.

Sherlock feels the pain lessen. Death is a relief. It's almost like waking up. Sherlock opens his eyes. "Sherlock! You're alright!" shouts John, "I'm not… dead?" asks Sherlock, "Of course not!" snorts Mycroft. "Where is Moriarty?" asks Sherlock, "Moriarty?" asks Mycroft, going pale, "Mycroft, what have you done?" groans Sherlock, "Nothing. It's just… that's the man that wanted to kill you, right? Last year? He's not going to stop- not until he kills you. I'll have your security ramped up to level two." answers Mycroft. "John, there is blood pooling from your leg. How much blood have you lost?" notes Sherlock, "Not too much, Sherlock. I am fine." lies John, "You're not. Fawkes." calls Sherlock, "What?" asks John, "He's a phoenix. And our way out." explains Sherlock.

"This is amazing!" shouts John, "You've said that seven times. Would you mind stopping?" asks Sherlock, "Sorry."

"How is your leg?" asks Sherlock, "It's alright. Been a crazy school year, hasn't it?" answers John, "Yeah." agrees Sherlock, "I was hoping for an ordinary school year. Maybe next year." mutters John, "You can't have an ordinary year with me as a friend, John. Next year will be as crazy as this one." lightly chuckles Sherlock. "Mm. Ordinary is overrated, anyways." agrees John. "Looks like this is our stop." notes Sherlock, "Yeah. Goodbye, Sherlock." says John, "Goodbye- for now." replies Sherlock. 


	5. Year 3: Braces?

_Please bear with me on the one-shot intros. I sort of need for this to start the story, you know? Well, I have a bit of difficulty with Year Three. A bit of input would be fantastic! Also, should I continue Gravitynatural? I have seen that all y'all seem to like it. Well, guess what? Braceslock! (School has started. The goldfish, guys. I am surrounded by goldfish and a couple handfuls of humans. This is my de-stressing.) I am beginning to wonder if Mycroft would be the Minister of Magic or something like that. Hey, did you know that Moriarty would've been about thirteen when he first killed? Anyways… enjoy, my pretties! Sherlockians? Cumbercookies? Enjoy anyways._

_ Disclaimer: Still do not own Sherlock. I am not BBC. No, I am not Sir. Author Conan Doyle. I am not JK Rowling. Not even close to her brilliance. Any references are not owned by me._

Sherlock waits. He stares out the window. John opens the compartment door. "Hi Sherlock!" he smiles. Sherlock waves in response. "How was your Summer?" asks John, "Good." mutters Sherlock. He talks into his scarf. "Something's wrong. What is it?" questions John, "N- Nothing." stutters Sherlock, "Something is wrong. What is it?" presses John, "Nothing." repeats Sherlock. "Don't lie to me. I waited a whole Summer to see you. You sent me Howlers every week. I'm getting some payback." John smiles and grabs the scarf. "What are you doing?!" shouts Sherlock, "Rache." smiles John, "Stop." commands Sherlock, "Why? It's just a scarf. You have nothing to hide." teases John, "John, stop." pleas Sherlock. "No." coldly answers John.

"Great. Look at what you've done." hisses Sherlock, "What?" asks John, "My scarf is stuck in" John can't hear the next part. "What?" he asks, "Braces, John. My scarf is stuck in my braces."

"Braces?" snorts John, "I told you to stop." mutters Sherlock, "Sorry." sheepishly replies John. An awkward pause follows. "I hear that Moriarty got out of Azkaban." reports John, "Ah yes. Sebastian." idly adds Sherlock, "What?" asks John, "Mm? Yes, Sebastian." repeats Sherlock, "That Slytherin in our year?" questions John, "Yes. Keep a close eye on him." answers Sherlock, "Why?" asks John, "He needs surveillance." replies Sherlock, "Okay. Not going to ask."

Sherlock and John talk on about random things, from Chocolate Frogs to owls to Doctor Who. Sherlock finally feels happy after a Summer of loneliness. John is ecstatic about seeing Sherlock again.


	6. Year 3: The Woman

_Author's Note:_ _You like the last chapter? Thanks for all the views! So, I have a Tumblr now. It's called Perhaps I should get out more. I try updating it regularly. Also, I think you should be wary of some swearing in this chapter, and others further on. I feel that swearing captures the spirit a bit more. I found this a difficult chapter to write. Maybe I should've gone with HOUND. Oh well. Enjoy this chapter, pretties!_

_ Disclaimer: I own a grand total of… nothing! Credit goes to Good old JK, Steven Moffat, Sir. Arthur Conan Doyle, and everyone else. They are the ones you should thank. This is just fan fiction. References are not owned by me. _

"Sherlock!" shouts John, pale as the moon. "Sherlock, you have to go. You were right. I should've listened. Go!" he pants, "Irene. You really shouldn't have done that. Working for Moriarty. Now, you are not that stupid, right? You aren't stupid enough to believe that I will believe such thinly veiled lies." calmly states Sherlock, "I was going to let you go, you know. Until now. You're brilliant, Mr. Holmes- incredibly brilliant. And useful." smiles Irene. "Your lies are all the same. Butter me up until I fail. I never fail in anything, Irene. Or should I say The Woman?" questions Sherlock.

"She's The Woman?" gasps John, "Of course I am. How long?" asks Irene, "A while. You are good, but I am better. All of those letters sent by one person? One person- other than Miss Hooper- showing interest in me? Irene Adler, the Girl of Slytherin, the one who can blackmail anyone, has just gotten caught." Sherlock somewhat grimly smiles. "Now, I know that your interest in me is not strictly professional. In fact, what had once been a cover up has become something true. The code for the information is something that I have not gotten until now. Your infatuation with me has spread into other parts of your work."

"The password, of course, is…" he summons a quill and turns the book around. He writes in a loopy, flourishing handwriting one word; Sher. "And I am right, Miss Adler." He smiles as words appear. But he doesn't use his teeth. Not anymore. "Give this to me and you'll have John back." threatens Irene, "You won't. You're bluffing." scoffs Sherlock. "Really, Mr. Holmes?" asks Irene, "Yes." swallows Sherlock. "Now take your book. I know you need it. Laterz."

"How did you know what she would do?" asks John, "I didn't." breathes Sherlock, "You were sacrificing my life for a book?! Good god, Sherlock, I could have died! If she wasn't bluffing, I _would_ have died! You're sacrificing my life for _adrenaline_! My bloody _leg_ is broken, and she got away?!" shouts John. Sherlock doesn't speak. He looks at John. "What?" spits John, "She wasn't after my blood. She wasn't, but her employer was. Her employer's employer is after my blood. Her employer? Sebastian. His employer? Moriarty." answers Sherlock. "So it _was_ Sebastian. Leads back to Moriarty. But why did you let her go?" asks John, "She is innocent. Ever so slightly innocent. She never meant for me to get this far. She never thought I would guess the password. No, she underestimated me. But she'll never touch you again. That's important. I didn't want for you to be dragged into this. If you want, you can-"

"Nice chick-flick moment, Sherlock. I can take care of myself, and I can choose for myself. And I want to be your friend. Your one and only friend." interrupts John. "T- Thank you, John." mumbles Sherlock. "Oh, and your girlfriend- the frankly boring Hufflepuff- is cheating on you with Davidson."

"It's only been one year. Well, John, we've learned a lot, haven't we?" sighs Sherlock, "What have we learned besides Irene is The Woman?" asks John. "Don't worry about Irene; she's gone, was a seventh year. Sebastian needs surveillance. And Moriarty is coming back. To quote a very wise murderer, 'Hell is empty and the devils are here.'" answers Sherlock. "Shakespeare was a murderer?!" asks John, "Yes, he was a writer. The best way to be a murderer is to become a writer." answers Sherlock. "You know that girlfriend you told me about? She _was_ cheating with Davidson. You saved me a lot of heartbreak." thanks John, "You're welcome. Have a good Summer." smiles Sherlock, "Have a good Summer." They depart from the train, each swept into the large crowd on their way home.


	7. 7: Howlers From Sherlock

_Author's Note: Eh heh heh! Not a real chapter! I would like to give a big thank-you to Shadow! I like the constructive criticism. I decided to do a mini-chapter about the Howlers… you know, __to stall __for fun. So here it is! (I think that Sherlock sends Howlers all the time, not just during the Summer.)_

_ Disclaimer: I own nothing. Nope, nada, zilch. Thank the creators, not me!_

"John! May I borrow a quill? SH"

"I dropped my inkwell. I have yours. SH"

"I know what Fluffy's guarding. Come to the Common Room at once. Could be dangerous. SH"

"I need to borrow your Potions Book. SH"

"Do you want to know what happens when you drink plain Polyjuice Potion? SH"

"Moran has a hand in it. SH"

"I know who The Woman is. Also, ask out Irene. SH"

"I can speak to snakes. SH"

"BORED! SH"

"Irene is messing with me. Make her stop. SH"

"Mycroft has been eating extra cake. And could you not snore? SH"

"John, Molly is acting weird. I think I've lost her as an ally. SH"

"I DON'T UNDERSTAND GIRLS! SH"

"How's your Summer? SH"

"Irene? You know her, right? Keep an eye on her. SH"

"Something big is going to happen this school year. Look forward to it. SH"

"Donovan and Anderson are dating. Don't tell them I know. SH"

"Gandalf- Garry- Gerald- Grayson- Lestrade needs to interrogate you. Think of some good excuses. SH"

"What have you been doing? This is incredibly boring. When will school start again? SH"

"Turns out Molly is interested in me. What do I do? I don't understand girls. SH"

"How's Harry? SH"

"Mycroft is incredibly annoying. Tell me about your Summer. SH"

"John! Answer me. SH"

"Why are brothers so stupid? Why are people so stupid? Why can't the world just open its eyes?! SH"

"Why did you storm out yesterday? SH"

"You cancelled your date for me? SH"

"What happened? I was with Moriarty one minute, and the next I'm in the Hospital Wing. Where are you? SH"

"Leave me. I'm a time bomb. And my minutes are running out. I'll only hurt you. SH"

"Did I do something wrong? SH"

"I need your owl. SH"

"I have the book, The Woman's book. SH"

"I had to open a safe. SH"

"Vatican Cameos. SH"

"Where were you last night? SH"

"So you were on a date? SH"

"No time to explain. Go to the Womping Willow. Wait for me. Don't get too close. SH"

"Look for a blue satchel. SH"

"That girl isn't worth your time. She's using you. SH"

"Watch Sebastian. SH"

"Do you want to cause some mischief? SH"

"Let's go annoy Mycroft. SH"

"Mycroft got promoted. He now holds a 'minor' position in the Ministry of Magic. BORING. SH"

"Don't look for Moriarty. He's looking for you. SH"


	8. Year 4: Catching Up

_Author's Note: Wow, really short chapter. Sorry about that, but I just sort of ran out of ideas. Okay, anyways, Tri-Wizard Tournament! Yay!_

_ Disclaimer: Blah blah blah, I own nothing, etc. etc._

Sherlock waits for John. Another Summer, another wait. John slides open the compartment door. "Sherlock!" he smiles, "John." nods Sherlock, "Did you hear?" asks John, "About the Tri-Wizard Tournament? Yes." answers Sherlock. "Isn't it exiting? Imagine all the possibilities!" smiles John, "I see injury and death. I see no point in sports." sighs Sherlock. "Okay. Did you hear about the Quidditch World Cup?" asks John, "Yes. Moriarty grows stronger. Tell me more." commands Sherlock.

John begins to explain what happened at the World Cup. "You know what? It was terrifying. Do you think that Irene had a hand in it?" asks John, "Oh no, she's been flying under the radar. Mycroft's been keeping an eye on her. Doesn't want to get into too much trouble." answers Sherlock. The train keeps going, with the two talking.


	9. Year 4: The Youngest Cahmpion

_Author's Note: Did you enjoy Howlers? I liked writing it. It re-kindled the passion for this fic. So, this will take a bit. Maybe a chapter per event? Oh well, I think I like the new writing style._

_ Disclaimer: I own nothing from this. NOTHING. _

"The champion for Durmstrang is… Philip Anderson!" announces Dumbledore. Everyone politely applauds for Anderson. "The champion for Beauxbatons is… Sally Donovan!" announces Dumbledore again. More polite applause. "The champion for Hogwarts is…" Dumbledore pauses. He looks at the paper in disbelief. "…Sherlock Holmes."

Everyone stares at Sherlock. He can't believe it. "Sherlock Holmes?" asks Dumbledore. Sherlock stands and begins walking over to the chamber with the other champions. Mycroft looks at him with curiosity. No applause, just silence. Until people start shouting at him.

"He's not even seventeen!"

"He's a cheat!"

"He just wants fame."

The walk over to the chamber is endless. Sherlock looks Mycroft in the eye. Mycroft frowns. Sherlock looks away. He takes in a deep breath.

"Hello, Sherly!" smiles a woman with braided hair. "Now, I just need to interview you. Let's go, shall we?" She points towards a broom cupboard.

"I'm Kitty Reilly." She introduces. Kitty pulls out an acid green quill and puts the tip in her mouth. She places it upright on a piece of parchment. "Quick-Quotes Quill. It helps my writing."

"Now, tell me about yourself. What possessed you to sign up for the Tournament? Was it your need to please your brother, Junior Assistant to the Minister for Magic? Or was it your thirst for fame? Maybe it was to impress someone? A girl? Maybe a boy? We don't judge, you know." interrogates Kitty.

"I didn't put my name in the Cup, Rita. I have no need to please Mycroft. And I have no need for fame. I have no one to impress. Girlfriends are not my thing. Nor are boyfriends. And you do judge."

"Oh, I get it. Play your part, Sherly. Be a good boy. Everybody loves a rebel. Was it the need to impress your parents? For a social standing? How do you feel that your parents will be? Proud? Concerned?"

"I have no one to impress. And I feel no need to tell someone like you about my parents."

"'Someone like me?'"

"A liar. A chronic liar, at that. You lie for a living. That's terrible business to be in. Do you feel a need to force-feed everyone lies? I can see right through you and your quill, too."

The Quick-Quotes Quill viciously scratches at the parchment.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You do, Miss Reilly. And I have three words for people like you. _You disgust me._"

"You have me. If you don't tell anyone, I will give you fame. Mr. Holmes, you will be the most popular person out there. They will adore you. Let me go and I can do all that and more."

"No. Lies! All you speak is lies!"

Sherlock storms out of the cupboard. Neither Anderson nor Donovan notices him as they talk to the reporters.

"He's just a little boy! And a _freak_-"

"- there's something not right about him. He just wants attention. He wants to be noticed, over that brother of his. And he does that by-"

"- hell yeah the freak lies. No one's that smart! And he could never have done any of that stuff without lying. After all, what about when the papers said-"

"- he couldn't do any of that. I bet he's taking credit for other people's genius. I mean, he couldn't _possibly_ know _all _of that! He must think we're stupid. But he doesn't feel. He's a zombie! Why don't we get rid of him? And-"

Sherlock can't bear to hear any more. He clears his throat loudly. Everyone looks at him. Donovan glares at him. Dumbledore strides in.

"Sherlock, did you put your name in the Goblet of Fire?"

"No. I don't know what happened."

"He's just a little boy! How can he compete in this? I thought that there were rules that stopped this!" protests Donovan.

"Miss Donovan, I am well aware of the regulations placed by the Ministry."

"This is an outrage. This boy simply cannot compete!" complains Anderson.

"Mr. Anderson, I am handling this."

"What am I supposed to do?"

"Sherlock, you have to compete. I am sorry, but there is no way out of it. You are the champion of Hogwarts. The youngest champion."

If looks could kill, then Sherlock would be triple dead from the glares he is receiving.

"I think it's best for the students to sleep." suggests Dumbledore.

Sherlock nervously exits the room. Oh great, more glares. He looks for John.

"Sherlock! What happened?" asks John.

"I- I am the youngest champion. I have to compete. Three guesses on who put my name in the Cup."

"You didn't? So then it was… Irene? No, Moriarty. Hold on, Sebastian?"

"It might be Sebastian. Perhaps not."

"So what does he want?"

"Honestly? I don't know. And I don't like not knowing."


	10. Year 4: The Daily Prophet

_Author's Note: To ensure the mood, I decided to write a bit about the interview. If you wanted to know why Sherlock changed so much from Year 2 to Year 3, read this. Otherwise, have some emotional Sherlock!_

_ Disclaimer: Not mine, nor will it ever be. _

"Look at this!" groans John, handing Sherlock a copy of The Daily Prophet.

Sherlock Holmes, at age twelve, is the youngest of all the Tri-Wizard Tournament champions. Even at his young age, Sherlock has suffered more than most adults. As a child, he has faced criminal mastermind J. Moriarty, an escaped Azkaban prisoner. When asked about his past encounters with Moriarty, Sherlock become incredibly distraught.

"As you may know, Moriarty has been after me for many years. He has chased after my brother and me countless times and nearly killed us several of them. No, I have not escaped unscathed. I often fear that he's going to show up one day and kill off my brother, Mycroft and my Best Friend, John Watson. They mean the world to me. I don't know what I'd do without them. You know Mycroft, the Junior Assistant of the Minister of Magic? I'm so proud of him. He's accomplished so much! I look up to him. He is my role model in everything. And then there's John!

"He's a wonderful person. He came into my life just when I needed him, and he's helped me through everything. I would be lost without them, which is why I protect them with my life. Moriarty will not take them away." Replied Sherlock as he wiped tears from his pale blue eyes.

Sherlock grows incredibly angry as he reads the article. Not only could he never recall saying in his life, let alone in that broom cupboard. Different phrases jump out at him.

Sherlock may have found love in his troubled life. According to Sebastian

Moran, a good friend of Sherlock's, he is rarely seen out of the company

of John Watson, an incredibly handsome Muggle-born boy who, like his

friend Sherlock is one of the top students in the school.

Rita- no, Jenny- Cecil- wait, Kat- oh, _Kitty_ Reilly had not only transformed his curt, angered replies into sickeningly sappy paragraphs and had interviewed other students about him as well, she had lied about his friendship with John. Every sentence dripped with lies. And she had written him with too much emotion. Hadn't he left behind all of that emotion when- no, too soon for Redbeard- when Mycroft left?

"What is this rubbish?"

"I don't know, John, but I don't like this woman. She needs to stop."

People- mainly Slytherins- began quoting the lies at him and making sneering comments. He ignored them to the best of his abilities. John didn't take it as well, shouting at people who poked fun at him and being in a general bad mood when it was mentioned.


	11. Year 4: Dragons

_Author's Note: Hey there. Thanks for living through the hiatus. Okay, so I've decided that Kitty totally ships johnlock. And now everyone thinks that John and Sherlock are a couple. I'm going to verify that they are not, in this work, a couple. Sorry. In unrelated news, you may ask me questions on my blog._

_ Disclaimer: Ha. Ha ha ha. Nope. Credit is given where it is due. Not my characters, not my plot ideas._

"Sherlock, what did you say the first task was?!" practically shouts John.

"We're up against dragons, John."

"You seem pretty indifferent to the fact that _you could die_."

"Nothing worse then what I've dealt with before, John."

"_It's a dragon, Sherlock!_"

"And I'm a human, John! Honestly, I've dealt with worse. I went against Moriarty, so what's a dragon compared to him? Now, what do you think would work against a dragon?"

"You're mad, Sherlock. Utterly mad! Use a Summoning Spell."

"But that's so… boring. What about taking it down from behind and- no, that's stupid. What if I- no way will that work. Uh…"

"What about flying?"

"Flying?"

"Yeah, on a broom. Have you ever flown before?" Sherlock doesn't answer. "You- you've never flown before?"

"No, I haven't."

"You have to be kidding me. I'll have to teach you."

"Good luck, Sherlock." John stands still for a second before pulling Sherlock into a hug. Sherlock stands rigidly. A camera snaps.

"Young love!" exclaims Peggy- uh, Kelsey- yes, Kitty.

"What are you doing here?" hisses Sherlock.

"I'm just getting some interviews. I need one from each champion's point of view."

"Go away. I will see you after this."

Kitty scowls and stalks out of the champion's tent. John realizes the furious blush on his face.

"Don't die, Sherlock."

"I don't plan on doing so."

Just as John rushes out of the tent, Mycroft walks in with a bag made of silk. "Gather up. Now, reach into the bag to receive your challenge. Miss Donovan, you're first."

Sally reaches into the bag. She is holding a tiny, perfect model of a dragon: a Welsh Green. It has a number two around its neck.

Anderson reaches into the bag next, withdrawing his hand to show a scarlet Chinese Fireball. This one has a number one around its neck.

Sherlock knows what's coming. A bit of fear floods through him. He reaches into the bag and feels the sharp spikes poke his skin. The Horntail. He had gone and gotten the Hungarian Horntail. He looks up at Mycroft. Mycroft stares back at him. Sherlock pulls his hand out, and- oh, surprise- the Hungarian Horntail. It has a number three.

"Good. Miss Donovan, you will go first. You have five minutes until you go. I will come and get Mr. Anderson when it's your turn."

Anderson looks at Sherlock jealously. Sherlock looks back. "How's your boyfriend?" sneers Anderson.

"What?!" asks Sherlock.

"You read the article. You talked in the article. Everyone knows that you two are a couple."

"We're not."

"Embarrassed?"

"We're not a couple. I don't have anyone. I have alone."

"Yeah right. Don't deny it."

"You kiss your Donovan with that mouth? Yes, I know. Of course I know. It's obvious."

"Listen here, you little- _freak_. I don't know how you're doing this or why, but I do know that you are a fake. A liar and a fake; a freak."

"Oh, I am _terrified._ Allow me to quake in fear."

Anderson pins Sherlock to the wall of the tent. He pulls back his fist. Sherlock flinches ad prepares for the contact...

Anderson quickly moves aside. Sherlock opens his eyes.

"Mr. Anderson, it's your turn." announces Mycroft. He glances at Sherlock. Sherlock realizes that he still has shreds of fear in his eyes.

Mycroft turns around and exits with Anderson.

Sherlock had never been patient. No, he had always wanted time to speed up to his rate. But now, he just wants time to trickle by. But it rushes now. It's comical how time does the exact opposite of what you want it to do. Before he knew it, there is Mycroft.

"Sherlock, it's your time." he professionally announces.

Sherlock wants to shuffle off with his brother, but knows he must look proud and confident.

The crowd cheers and boos him. But he barely notices. Instead, he deduces the crap out of this situation. Maybe his skills aren't as good as Mycroft's, but he is _way_ smarter than anyone in this crowd.

Okay, Hungarian Horntail; female, judging by the eggs right next to her. Heavily armored, but tethered to the spot. She can't move too far. There's a good weakness. And it means he has to fly. Good thing that John instructed him how to fly.

"Accio Firebolt!" commands Sherlock. John's Firebolt speeds towards him. He swallows, preparing to fly. Then, he steps off.

The smooth, gliding feeling of flying comforts him slightly. The Horntail turns towards him, looking at him in anger.

Sherlock speeds away. He overestimated the strength of the Horntail's chain. She slams into Hogwarts, knocking down many tiles. But that means that… the golden egg is unprotected.

Sherlock falls off of the broom. He runs over to the egg. The Horntail flies closer, its ugly spiked head getting nearer and nearer until…

Sherlock clings onto the golden egg. He clutches onto it with his life. Which he might not have any longer.

"Sherlock!" shouts Mycroft. Sherlock blinks. The Horntail is thrashing in front of him, being restrained by the dragon-keepers. He scrambles away, grabbing the Firebolt.

"Sherlock!" shouts John.

"I'm fine."

"There's blood pooling from your forehead and you say you're fine?!"

Sherlock notices the blood dripping from his forehead, the accompanying throb, and the building pain behind his eye.

"I'm _fine_."

"Sherlock, you are _not_ 'fine'."

"What do you know about medicine, Mycroft?"

"I've patched you up a fair few times. Remember when you would fling yourself off of things because-"

"_Mycroft_."

"-'Pirates do these things all the time and never get hurt'?"

"Mycroft!"

"Pirates?"

"Oh yes. My brother may be a proper 'genius', but originally, he wanted to be a pirate."

"You- you wanted to be a pirate."

"Enough! Yes, I wanted to be a pirate. But I was younger and stupid. Now I have to go see that horrible Katheryn- Kat- Miss Riley."


	12. Year 4: You Know About The Yule Ball?

_Author's Note: The Yule Ball. Excited about this one! A bit more swearing in this one. John can't watch his mouth sometimes._

_ Disclaimer: Nope. Not mine. Never is, never will be. _

"Look what that Kitty has written!" groans John.

Sherlock glances at the paper. The photograph of John hugging him is front and center. He gets to the first paragraph before spit-taking milk onto the newspaper.

**The Hogwarts champion has finally found love, reports Kitty Riley. Young Sherlock**

**is reportedly in a relationship with John Watson. "At first we were just friends, but**

**then we realized that there was something else between us. That special spark that**

**tells you 'Yes, that is the one. You are meant to be with that one. Throw your life **

**away for this human.' Of course, many people don't agree with our relationship. **

**But that's okay. Because we love each other. And that's what matters." smiles **

**Sherlock. John Watson was also interviewed. "What? Why wouldn't we be together?**

**This is what we want. And we deserve what we want. He's been through so much.**

**We have been through so much together. We just want to be happy." **

"I- I- you don't- I would never- no- I didn't-" stutters Sherlock. Ugh, that stutter. The one that kept him from talking as a child.

"What rubbish! How does she expect anyone to believe this?"

"W- What? You're n-not- you don't- you don't agree?"

"Of course not! I didn't say any of that, and I know that you wouldn't."

"You know about the Yule Ball?"

"Yes."

"I think that means that I have to find a date."

"You need a date? Ask Molly. She likes you."

"I suppose I should."

Sherlock sighs. John looks at him. "You should do something with your hair."

"Why?"

"You need to look nice."

"Fine,_ mother_."

"Oi, don't forget who you're doing this for."

"I don't _want_ a date."

"You're not a detective! You're a drama queen!"

"_No John, I'm a __**dancing**__ queen!_"

"I could do without the sarcasm."

"Are you happy now?"

"Sure."

"Good."

"Oh yes, Sherlock Holmes, Lord of Sass."

"'Lord of Sass'? Not your best."

"The Lord of Sass strikes again."

Sherlock messes with his sleeve. "I'm not sure about all black."

"What do you suggest?"

Sherlock goes upstairs, then back down a bit later.

"A purple tie? Whatever you want, I recon."

"Good." Sherlock strides out of the portrait hole.

"You look good." complements Molly.

"Oh, Molly. You look… different." returns Sherlock.

Molly smooth's out her red dress. She seems a bit awkward, compared to the coldness and indifference of Sherlock's black suit.

"A purple tie?"

"What's wrong with purple?"

"Nothing, it's just not… what I expected."

"Good. I do like surprising people."

"Right… Do you know how to dance?"

"Yes."

"You do?"

"Yes. I'm not uncultured."

"Alright, then…"

Slow music plays from some enchanted instruments. "You really can dance."

"You sound surprised."

"I am."

"I _can_ dance."

"I know now."

The song ends. Everyone joins the dance floor. Great. The two things Sherlock can't stand: Unnecessary Touching and Socializing. He strides off of the dance floor.

"Sherlock?"

"John. You need to enjoy your night. Don't worry about me. I'm fine."

"Well, my date… went off with a bloke from Beauxbatons."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Well, I'm getting some air."

"I didn't know that you could dance."

"I can."

"I know that now."

"Good."

"What an odd beetle." points out John.

"What?"

"Look. It's cold out, but this beetle is still here."

"Hmm. That's weird."

The beetle looks at them. Well, not at them, of course. Beetles can't be that intelligent.

"It's looking at us."

"If it is then it is smarter than Anderson."

"That's not nice."

"But it's true."

"You need to be nice."

"Your girlfriend broke up with you."

"W- What?"

"You're yelling at me because your girlfriend broke up with you. She thought that you were cheating on her with me."

"She did not-"

"She did. She reads all of the gossip magazines, and believes them. We're front-page news, you know. 'The cold Hogwarts champion finds love in male classmate'. People love that rubbish."

"Sherlock- no, I don't want to know."

"And you liked that one. But she was rude to Mrs. Hudson. She had to go."

"You- you bribed her?"

"Yes."

"Bloody hell, Sherlock! For once- just once- can you let me be happy with someone?! No, you can't! Damn you!"

"I _can_, and I don't have to ask if I _may_."

"Oh my bloody-fucking-hell! You don't know where to stop, do you? No, because you have never loved. You can't. You don't have feelings. You once did, but now you don't. How the bloody hell did you go from that caring little boy to- to- whatever this is?"

"You don't need to know."

"Oh, I get it. You, great, powerful and heartless rules-don't-apply-to-me-because-I-am- Sherlock-Holmes doesn't need to be nice because everyone loves you anyways. News flash: no one loves you. Nothing loves you! Everyone hates you. Everything hates you."

"John."

For a second- just a second- there is pure, genuine hurt in Sherlock's eyes. John realizes that he has gone too far. But he never goes too far. What did he say to do that? The hurt in Sherlock's eyes flashes to anger.

"You don't know me! You don't know what I've been through. You have no authority to say that."

"Sherlock?"

"If you hate me so much, why don't you just leave?"

"I didn't mean- god, Sherlock, I was- I'm sorry."

Sherlock blinks. 'Sorry'? When was the last time someone said 'sorry' to him?

"Sherlock? Are you crying?"

"Wh- What?" Sherlock dabs at his eyes. Sure enough, there was a slight dampness to his fingers. He is horrified by the public display of emotions.

"I- I- uh- I'm not- I can't- no- see-"

"I've never seen you cry."

"I'm not crying!"

"You are. What is wrong?"

"Nothing is wrong!"

They shiver in silence.

"Should we go inside?"

"Yeah."

"Sherlock! Where have you been?"

"I'm going back to the Common Room. Go on and dance. Enjoy yourself."

"See you, Molly."

"Goodbye?"


	13. Year 4: We're Stealing A Ship

_ Author's Note: Poor Molly. Left alone at the Yule Ball. So, onto the Second Task! Sherlock seems to have a death wish… Well, he must, to be hunting Moriarty. I don't like how Sherlock said "The Game is on", so I went with 'The Game is afoot." Scold me if you want. Also, Mrs. Hudson is Professor McGonagall. To clear up any confusion._

_ Disclaimer: I don't own this. All credit goes to the wonderful creators. _

"Morning, Sherlock."

"Good morning, John."

"Have you finished figuring out the Golden Egg?"

"Yes. But I think that some thievery is involved."

"'Thievery'? What are you stealing?"

"_We're _stealing a ship."

"The Durmstrang Ship?"

"That's the one."

"Inner pirate coming out, Sherlock?"

"_John._"

"Okay. Sheesh!"

"Now about stealing the ship…"

John was called to Dumbledore's office just hours before the Second Task. Sherlock sighs. That means that John… no, don't think about that. The alarm sounds.

The water is cold. Freezing, almost. But Anderson and Donovan dive in. Sherlock smirks. "Accio Ship!" he whispers.

Yes. _Yes. _Just like when he was six, a pirate sailing alone on the Seven Seas. He can place himself right there, in place of his six-year-old self, with Redbeard right next to him. Redbeard. Nope, still too soon.

The ship is even more comfortable than Sherlock assumed. The childhood pirate hat ends up on his head. The hat is too small for his fourteen-year-old head, but he still knows that he needs the hat.

The captives must be here somewhere. Sherlock steers the ship around to the place where the captives are held. Hmm, that needs a name. The Hideaway.

The lake is a lot bigger than it seems. And the clock is ticking. Damn time, why can't it just slow down? Time is so stupid. Just like Astronomy. You don't need it.

That flicker… is that- the captives! John! An older girl (Donovan's sister?) and a young girl (Anderson's sister?). And… two young children? What?

Sherlock exits the ship, but not before a good bubble-head charm. Now he wishes that he can swim. Oh well. He tethers himself to the ship.

He realizes that he is surrounded. By merpeople. With spears. And they could kill him. But they're not. He quickly gets to work on cutting the rope that binds John. He sends out a sharp blast from his wand and the rope gives way.

Donovan swims up to the older girl. She glares at Sherlock before looking at the ground. She picks up a sharp rock and begins cutting at the rope binding the girl. It's a little bit before she cuts her sister free. Donovan once again glares at Sherlock before she swims away. Sherlock stares at the other children. There are only three champions. So who are they?

A shark's head rushes at him. As the head passes him, Sherlock realizes that Anderson had transfigured his head into a shark's head. Not very prettily, either. Anderson begins biting the rope binding the youngest girl. Those shark teeth aren't good for tearing into anything smaller than a seal. But somehow Anderson manages to rip through the rope. He grabs the youngest girl's arm, staring at Sherlock. He opens those huge shark jaws and snaps at him.

The two children- a boy and a girl- are left. Sherlock looks around and blasts the rope binding the boy, and then the girl. The merpeople charge at him. He glares at them, holding for a split second. He then holds up three fingers. Two fingers. One finger. Then he points his wands at them. The wand expels a stream of boiling water. The merpeople hiss and retreat.

He takes both of the children, along with John, and struggles to the ship. How much does John weigh?! And the children… so much dead weight. No, they aren't dead, are they? Nope. They're alive. Yeah. Sherlock is saving two very much alive children and his very much alive friend.

Sherlock drags them onto the ship. He steers the ship to the surface of the lake. The crow's nest breaks the surface of the water.

"How're the kids?" asks Sherlock.

"The girl's awake, but the boy isn't. He _is_ still alive. I think that you should see the girl. She needs to know who saved her." informs Lestrade.

"Very well." Sherlock opens the door. The girl takes one look at him and begins screaming bloody murder.

Several Healers run towards her. They scowl at Sherlock. Anderson and Donovan gasp and stare at him. Sherlock steps back. He glances at John, then Lestrade. A furious blush creeps up his neck.

He moves out of the room as quickly as he can, striding down the hall. John jogs to keep up with him. "Sherlock," pants John.

"I didn't. I swear, I didn't hurt them. I would never hurt children. Never. You have to believe me."

"I do. I know that you didn't, but-" John holds up a copy of The Daily Prophet "- not everyone does."

Sherlock angrily reads the paper. He promptly sets it on fire. "That little-" Sherlock calms himself.

"We'll stop her. She'll get her just desserts."

"Yes."

"I wonder who this 'Richard Brooke' man is."

"I don't know. But he is no good."

"Moriarty's up to his old tricks."

"And we have to stop him. The game is afoot."


	14. Year 4: A Fake

_Author's Note: Ouch. So many feels. I apologize. But this is important for the whole Fall thing._

_Disclaimer: If you still think that this is mine, then there is something wrong. All the other disclaimers state it clearly: the characters do not belong with me._

"Okay, so there's a maze for the last task? A _maze_?"

"Don't laugh, John. This is serious."

"But a _maze_, Sherlock! This'll be easy for you!"

"John, listen to me. I do not like riddles. Never have. But this thing is serious. I think that-"

A large Snowy Owl flaps over to them and drops a letter. "'Sherlock Holmes'. Who sent you a letter? In damn calligraphy! Who the hell owns a Snowy Owl? Sher-"

"Breadcrumbs."

"Pardon?"

"There are breadcrumbs in this letter." Sherlock pours the breadcrumbs onto John's hand.

"Who the hell sends breadcrumbs to someone else?"

"No. That's not the question. The question is: 'What significance do breadcrumbs have'?"

"You know?"

"Do you know about _Grimm's Fairytales_?"

"Of course."

"The breadcrumbs are from _Hansel and Gretel_."

"What the hell?"

"What do you know about _Hansel and Gretel_?"

"Well, Hansel and Gretel go into the forest and leave a trail of pebbles behind them to find their way back. They go into the forest a second time, and this time they leave a trail of breadcrumbs. The breadcrumbs get eaten by birds, and then they find a gingerbread house of sweets with a lady who-"

"It's a trail."

"I don't get it."

"Of course you don't."

"What?"

"It's- never mind. I just… I have to go."

"Sherlock, wait!"

"I have something to do. I- I have to go."

"No."

"John. There's someone after you. They've found me, and now they've found you."

Sherlock takes a deep breath. He looks at the trail of pebbles laid before him. There wasn't supposed to be help in this maze. The shiny white surfaces reflect the wand light that guides Sherlock. There were no obstacles so far. The hedges grow thicker as he walks on. The middle gets closer and closer, the maze attempting to lure him into a false sense of security.

A scream vibrates from the maze. A jet of red sparks shoots into the air. A few seconds before a different, shriller scream comes from the same direction. Sherlock swallows and keeps walking on. Something gives off a silvery glow not too far away.

The cup shimmers with its own majestic luster. Sherlock hesitantly touches the shiny object. His hand is stuck to the cup. A swirling wind surrounds him as he is lifted up, up off the ground, colors whirling and flashing around him until his feet touch the ground again. The cup was a portkey.

"W_ell_, hel_lo_, Sher_ly_!" smiles Moriarty.

"Moriarty, you're back. Or should I say… Richard Brooke?"

"O_oh_, _how_ did you _find_ that _ou_t?"

"Simple. You disappeared. Left the face of the Earth. And then there was a Seventh Year exchange student that looks exactly like you named Richard Brooke. Richard Brooke, giving out information about me to Rita- Kitty."

"_O_h, so you _haven't_ read the newest _Daily Prophet_."

"What do you mean?"

"You_'re_ a _fake_. Now _every_one knows."

"What?"

"_Don_'t play that gam_e_ with _me_."

"People have died because of you."

"_That's_ what people _do_!"

"So there are just two of us. Just remember what I'll do."

"_Don_'t _forget_ about what _I'll_ d_o_. Now there's just you. Goodbye!"

"What-"

Moriarty points the wand he is holding into his mouth. A green flash of light hits him and he falls to the ground, eyes cold and lifeless.

Sherlock shakes as he writes on a piece of parchment. He seals the letter and gives it to John's owl. He looks at John, standing there in the crowd. "Expecto Patronum!" A silvery otter bursts from his wand. Sherlock whispers into its ear. The otter dashes over to John. John jogs over to the Astronomy Tower. He looks up at Sherlock.

"No!"

"Goodbye, John." Sherlock holds out his arms and jumps.

"SHERLOCK!"


	15. Year 4: At The Grave

_Author's Note: I'm giving myself so many feels writing this. And I'm sorry. I need ideas for the next year, though. Please?_

_Disclaimer: Not mine. Credit is given where credit is due. So, Steven Moffat, J.K. Rowling, and Sir. Arthur Conan Doyle are the owners. Thank them, not me._

Someone runs into John, knocking him down. The world goes black.

John opens his eyes. Sherlock is surrounded by staff and students. John slowly pulls himself up off of the ground.

"No. No. He's my friend. Please. He's my friend." begs John. Some of the people holding him back let him go. John checks Sherlock's pulse. No pulse. He's dead. John's heart sinks.

Sherlock had escaped death many times, but he had finally been caught into the web of death. He has flung himself into death. Sherlock, his best friend, was dead.

Oh God, he was Fourteen. Fourteen is too young. He had so much to live for. What had happened to the sweet little Eleven-year-old? And the adventurous Twelve-year-old? How could that have become this? He had always been so positive, so shy, so nice… and he became cold, hard, and depressed for no reason. What else had Sherlock been doing?

Blood pools from Sherlock's head. His eyes are lifeless, his face streaked with blood. Sherlock is so pale. Oh God. His owl flies at him with a letter. The curly writing reads _Sherlock Holmes_.

_John, if you are reading this, then it means that I have __jumped__ taken my life. Because that's what people do, right? I just need for you to know something. Yes, I am a fake. I've always been a fake. I've been lying. I did employ Richard Brooke to be J. Moriarty. Moriarty is a fake. He is as fake as I am. But our friendship is not fake. You need to tell people that I am a fake. Tell them the truth. I know that you will miss me. But this is for the best. Please, for me. Tell them the truth. And don't worry about me. Death is but the next great adventure. Sincerely, Sherlock Holmes._

John stares at the letter in disbelief. Sherlock was- is- not a fake. He can't do this.

Mrs. Hudson lays an arm around John's shoulder. John leans on her and cries. "He was my friend. And now he's gone." sobs John. Mrs. Hudson pulls him closer and holds him. "He was such a dear. It's a shame that he had to end his life like this."

John cries harder. The pain was too much. "Maybe I should." Mrs. Hudson looks at him. "John, dear, he wouldn't want you to do what he did." John looks up. "He wants me to tell everyone that he is a fake. But he's not. No. I- I believe in Sherlock Holmes."

Sherlock watches them. He had straightened his hair and cast some fake freckles on his face. He stands behind a tree, watching them cry over the humble fake grave. Written on the headstone are the words "Death is but the next great adventure". He stares at them, wishing. But he can't. Sherlock stalks away.


	16. Year 5: Reunion

_Author's Note: Hey. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. But look, something slightly happy._

_Disclaimer: Not mine. Nope. Thank the geniuses that presented these characters and their stories to us (and re-imagined them)._

John shuffles into a compartment. Their compartment. The one that Sherlock and John had met in and sat in every year before… John sniffs and slides the door open.

He gasps. Someone is sitting there. Someone with straight dark hair. He stands. Freckles brush his face. "John."

"You know my name. But who are you?"

"I am a face from the past." The boy rubs the freckles on his face. "You could say that I'm _not _dead."

"You- you- you're taller than me."

"Finally."

"How the hell did you get that tall?"

"That's your first question? 'How the hell did you get so tall?'"

"But you- I saw- I watched you-"

"I didn't die. Come. Sit down."

"You smell like- Sherlock! I smell cigarette smoke! You've been smoking!"

"Fine. I might have picked up some… habits while I was gone."

"'Some'?! There's more?"

"Maybe."

"Oh my God, Sherlock! You go away and come back as a smoker and- and God knows what!"

"I didn't mean to."

"You did. Why?"

"My mind… it's not like yours. Not like most people's. My mind will destroy itself if it doesn't have stimuli. It's not a well-oiled machine, it's- it's a time bomb. It will explode if I allow it to. Mycroft is similar. He requires stimuli as well. We aren't like the others. He helped me. I would have gone mad without it."

"So you're a smoker."

"It's the way I'm wired. It's… a different pattern."

"You're different. I know. People are afraid."

"In Medieval times, they would kill people like me. People that cause fear. I could be tortured then killed, or tortured until I kill myself, or executed immediately. I chose to 'kill' myself."

"Why would you explain it like that?"

"I don't know how else to."

"You can't feel."

"I'm a high-functioning sociopath."

"You can't feel."

"Yes."

"I have a robot as my best friend."

"I am not a robot."

"But you can't feel."

"Yes. But I'm not a robot."

"You're back. I wanted one more miracle, for you not to be dead."

"I heard."

The train rattles on. The reunited friends talk, reconnect.


End file.
